Conspiracy

By Alfred Adams and Stephanie R Perry

In this world that we live in, it's tough to stand for what is right. if you stand on what you believe because it's the right thing to do, there might be people who would not be happy for that and would conspire for your loss. Let us witness the story of Mr. Alfred Adams in the book, CONSPIRACY.

Would he be able to surpass the challenges a

• Language: English
• Publisher: Books by: ALFRED ADAMS
• Release date: Feb 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798987888810

Alfred Adams

The pilot, Alfred Adams, and author of this book has been a professional pilot for forty-four years, settling in Scottsdale, Arizona. He has flown thousands of hours in jet airplanes, helicopters, seaplanes, and gliders. His experience includes flying as a pilot on air carriers,corporate aviation, instructor, and testing airplanes and helicopters. Due to his vast experience, he was able to obtain employment anywhere in the world and he took full advantage.

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Conspiracy

Copyright © 2023 by Alfred Adams

ISBN:

e-book: 979-8-9878888-1-0

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

The views expressed in this book are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contets

INTRODUCTION

Chapter 1: NEW YORK CITY

Chapter 2: Glendale, California

Chapter 3: U. S. MARINE CORPS

Chapter 4: RETURNING HOME

Chapter 5: JACQUE COUSTEAU

Chapter 6: MY CAREER WITH THE FAA

Chapter 7: LEAVING THE FAA

Chapter 8: ARRIVA AIR INTERNATIONAL

Chapter 9: SAUDI ARABIA

Chapter 10: STONE AIR AVIATION

Chapter 11: ARIZONA DEPARTMENT OF TRANSPORTATION

EPILOGUE

INTRODUCTION

The cover is a type of before and after photos and classified by the City of Phoenix, as the worst air disaster in the history of Sky Harbor Airport. There were eight passengers and crew on board, and everyone got off without so much as a scratch.

The final NTSB and FAA investigative reports of this accident revealed the FAA removed two key witness statements from the final accident report that would have shown the cause of this accident to be that both sets of brakes, pilot and co-pilot’s brake pedals froze in the full up position and unusable. The brake pedals are the only method of applying normal or emergency brakes.

With the removal of this crucial evidence, the FAA was able to blame the accident on the pilot because he did not go through the procedure of using emergency braking, even though the emergency brakes were inoperable. Without any brakes to stop the aircraft, it went through the perimeter fence, crossed 24th street, a busy thoroughfare and crashed through a six-foot concrete block wall, bursting into flames.

Another lie by the FAA is when they blamed the brake failure on the Anti-Skid System. The manufacturer of the Anti-Brake System tested the entire unit, and it worked fine with no malfunctions. The FAA changed the final accident report by removing two witness statements. Removing the two witness statements eliminated the fact the brake pedals were frozen in the full up position making it impossible to operate either the normal or emergency brake systems. The FAA made it appear as if the pilot didn’t know how to use the emergency brake thereby justifying taking enforcement action against the pilot when they attempted to suspend his pilot certificate for forty-five days. The pilot took the FAA to task and appealed the case to the NTSB Hearing Judge and won after all the facts were brought out.

This book reveals the FAA’s Conspiracy against an FAA employee that began when an FAA Air Traffic Controller demanded the pilot of a Mooney 231, to execute an unsafe maneuver causing the airplane to crash killing both the brother of the FAA employee and the brother’s son-in-law, Vince.

Conspiracy is an autobiography of the accomplishments of the pilot and what he did in an attempt to escape the FAA’s Vendetta. However, the FAA’s vendetta followed him throughout his aviation career.

© Copyright

Chapter 1

NEW YORK CITY

New York City is made up of five Burroughs, Manhattan, Brooklyn, Bronx, Staten Island, and Queens. I grew up in Springfield Gardens located in the Borough of Queens on Long Island at the east edge of New York City’s line just before Nassau County. You enter Nassau County which is outside and east of the city. The Southern State Parkway is the main highway and the boundary line between New York City and Nassau County or Long Island.

Alongside the Parkway were small ponds or lakes all in a row each connected by a small stream. These ponds or lakes, whatever you wanted to call them weren’t very clean, and the color of the water was brown. During the summer months, we would go swimming in one of these lakes until my mother came down to watch us. She was disgusted when she saw garbage flowing into our swimming hole and immediately took me home.

The house where I grew up was on 222nd Street between 131st and 132nd Avenue in Springfield Gardens. The property was only fifty feet wide by one hundred feet deep. Even though it was very narrow, it still had a driveway down the side to the garage. So, you can imagine the size of the house.

My father was a New York City Police Officer at the 103rd Precinct in Jamaica. In our garage, my dad had set up a repair shop where he worked on the personal cars of Police Officers from the 103rd and 105th Precincts. My father also had a third job as a mechanic on the Green Bus Line.

The rear yard contained a small fish pond which held three or four goldfish. It did not have any filtering system, so we had to change the water every so often when it got black. During the winter months the pond would freeze solid, but somehow the fish survived until the summer when the ice melted. We never fed the fish. There were so many mosquitoes flying around that they had plenty to eat.

The house was very tiny and had only two bedrooms, one for my folks and the other for my brother and me. Eventually, my parent’s built another bedroom onto the rear of the house over the kitchen, and that became their bedroom.

My mother took care of an older woman we called Mother Johnson. She occupied my parent’s old bedroom. Being an invalid, she was only able to get from her room to the bathroom by holding onto her wooden wheelchair. She would support herself by holding onto the arms of the wheelchair and push it in front of her into the bathroom. Sometimes she would be naked when she walked from the bedroom to the bathroom. As a kid, it was horrible for my brother and me to see this.

The front of our house had a screened in porch where my friends, Bubby Watson, Ron Miller, Eddy Lurk, Richard Silva and I would sleep in the summer to take advantage of the cooler outside air. The one thing we couldn’t beat was the humidity. It was awful and kept us awake until all hours of the night. Air conditioning was unheard of in the forties and fifties.

The guys I hung around with always tried to look and act older than we were so, we took up smoking cigarettes because we thought it would be very cool. I was eight years old when I began my smoking career. Buying them was no problem because we always told the clerk they were for our parents. The clerk didn’t care; they just wanted the business.

Two blocks from my house was a huge vacant piece of land that had what we called the jungle. It was overgrown with trees and bushes which had to be chopped down to gain access to the center where we built the Fort. We dug two holes; one was the main room, which measured about ten by ten-foot square and six foot deep and the other was the entrance. We cover the hole with boards and sheets of plywood, and on top we planted bushes. To prevent the roof from collapsing, we installed a 4 X 4 wooden support attached to a cross beam in the center of the ceiling.

Saturday night was the time when my mother gathered all our dirty clothes for the laundry. She was cleaning out the pockets of my pants and came across some prophylactics. Naturally, she was shocked because I was only 12 years old. She told me she was going to tell my father, but when he confronted me, he only said he was glad I was taking precautions.

In 1951, I graduated from Grammar School and surprised everyone. That September I started my short stay in High School. During my high school years, I was becoming an uncontrollable hoodlum hanging out with a huge street gang called Scorpions. Our numbers were so large that a rival gang came to Springfield Gardens to fight. We told them we would meet them at an abandon baseball field. They showed up in eight cars, but when they realized we outnumbered them by about four to one, they took off without as much as a hello. The baseball field was full of our gang members, almost shoulder to shoulder. I couldn’t even guess how many of us were there.

Every so often Bazars would come and set up tents on vacant land. There would be games in these tents where people would bet on numbers, and the attendant would spin a wheel. Three- inch metal spokes stuck out from the outside perimeter of the wheel creating a clicking noise as they slapped against a wooden pointer. If the pointer stopped on their number, they won a price. The prizes were bottles of liquor.

One foggy night, because of the limited visibility, no one saw was able to see us when we crawled under one of the tents and stole four bottles of liquor. The fog hampered the security guard’s vision and he never even knew we were there.

I took my bottle to school removed the cap and stuck it inside my jacket. I then stuck a long straw inside the bottle with the other end stuck inside the collar of my coat. When I wanted a drink, I would bring the straw out of my jacket and sip the liquor. As I sat in class drinking this liquor, it didn’t take me long until I was very drunk.

In the lunchroom, a teacher smelled the alcohol and was about to turn me over to security, when I ran from the school and played hooky the rest of the day. I fell asleep lying in the middle of the sidewalk in front of a candy store across the street from the school.

Tony Fortunato, a high school friend, came along, woke me up and we got out of the area. We walked along the main street of Linden Boulevard looking in the window of parked cars to see if anyone had left their keys. We were walking through a parking lot when we spotted a key ring containing keys hanging from the dashboard of a big Packard.

I got in the driver’s seat and started inserting each key into the ignition. Finally, one worked, and I started the car, drove it out of the parking lot and onto the street. Just as we were leaving the parking lot, the owner of the car saw us and came running out of a store. Still a little drunk from the liquor, I stopped the car wanting to see how fast it would accelerate from a dead stop. The owner was still running, when Tony started yelling at me to get the hell out of there. When the owner got about twenty feet from the rear of the car, I slammed my foot down hard on the accelerator. The car lurched ahead and sped off down the street leaving the owner screaming and shaking his fist.

We left the area believing the owner would be calling the police immediately and we didn’t want to be anywhere near there. We drove east toward the county line so that we wouldn’t be that far from home when we abandoned the car. We changed drivers until we were tired of it and then parked the car on a side street and walked out of the area.

During summer vacation, when there was no school, the guys I hung around with on a regular basis, would take our bikes and ride to Rockaway Beach, a distance of about 20 miles. The area of Rockaway Beach where we liked to swim was in an inlet where the water was calm and not as rough as the ocean. The inlet had two moored rafts made of wood and held afloat by eight fifty gallon drums secured underneath. These rafts were about fifteen feet square and two feet above the water. They were perfect for just lounging around on the surface or diving from them.

We had to be careful walking in the water because Horse Shoe Crabs were lying on the bottom in the sand. These crabs had a triangular shaped bone tail approximately seven inches long, and rumor had it, if they were asleep, their tail would stand straight up. If you weren’t careful, you could step on the tail, and it would go straight up through your foot. You had to remember to drag your feet along the sandy bottom. These crabs were downright ugly. They looked like half a basketball and were gray. When you turned them over, there were many crab pinchers.

During the winter months and off-season for tourists, we would ride to the beach and break into the vacant houses. There was nothing to steal, but we had fun just rummaging through all those houses.

A friend and I drove a stolen car to Tony’s house and as we approached we slowed and came to a stop around the corner. We got out leaving the car running because we had the ignition hot-wired. As I walked up to Tony’s house, there were two policemen at his front door. Tony signaled me from the front window to get out of there. I turned and walked back around the corner but didn’t go to the car we had waiting. I looked back, and one policeman walked to the corner and was watching me. I walked past the car, and the cop went back to Tony’s house. I went back to the car got in, made a U turn and got out of there.

Growing up, many times I was questioned by the New York City’s Police from the 105th Prescient for doing something out of the ordinary. My father was a Police Officer in the 103rd Prescient in Jamaica, which was a suburb of New York City. Every time a Police Officer from the 105th Prescient stopped and questioned me, they would call my father and tell him what I was doing and make it sound as if I was in deep trouble. I never found out if they were kidding, but in any case, I was in trouble with my father when he got home.

He was a huge man but only stood five foot 10 inches tall. He was very broad, but it was not fat. He didn’t know his strength. I saw him take a complete automobile engine and lift it into the back of a pickup truck by himself. My mother would always be concerned when he spanked my brother or me because of his strength.

My older brother, George or Buddy as we called him, was older than me by three and a half years. We both went to the same High School. He was always the honor student and could do no wrong by the school faculty. When they heard his little brother was coming to the High School, they praised their luck. Boy, did I show them how wrong they were?

My brother and I were total enemies and would fight every chance we got. He was much bigger than me, so he always won. Even though we hated one another, I had a lot of respect for him because when he graduated from high school, he joined the Navy. On his own, he went to classes and specialized schools qualifying him to enter the U.S. Naval Academy at Annapolis, Maryland. Many of the students in that university got there through congressional appointments, but he made it on his own. The son of a New York City Cop going to Annapolis Naval Academy was something special. My mother and father were proud of him and justifiably so.

When I was about fourteen years old, he was home for the Christmas Holidays. He asked me if I wanted to go into Brooklyn drinking with him and his friend Johnny China. Naturally, I said yes, and from that moment on, we became